


Fall

by Xie



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Future, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-12-26 18:04:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12064224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xie/pseuds/Xie
Summary: Three years post-513. Fall comes to New York... and Pittsburgh.





	Fall

I stopped and got a triple shot latte before work. Although some things, not even caffeine can cut through.

When I walked into the conference room, Ted and Cynthia were already there, laptops open. I'd barely gotten my ass in the chair when Ted started talking.

"I have the report, and before we start, none of us has to jump off the roof." He handed a small folder to each of us.

"Well that's good," I told him. "Since we're only two stories high. Just enough to break every bone in your body, not enough to die."

Ted nodded. "Duly noted."

I didn't open the folder, just raised one brow in Cynthia's direction. She quietly put two copies of a similar folder on the table.

The room was quiet as we flipped through the reports. I scanned Ted's first, feeling the caffeine in my veins fighting the relief that flooded them as the words sank in. Then I read it through more carefully, and looked at Ted. "So, basically, the entire United States economy has collapsed, three of our biggest clients have cut their ad campaigns to the bone, one of them has stopped all advertising entirely, and yet, somehow, we're okay. Did I get that right?"

Ted nodded. "Basically."

"And how did we do that, Theodore?"

He shrugged. "I started moving assets and cutting expenses earlier this year, after Bear Stearns collapsed. We had nothing in the stock market, nothing in anything remotely related to the housing industry, and we're well-diversified. We have no debt, and we froze hiring."

Cynthia took over, tapping a perfectly manicured finger on her report. "Although given the downturn in business volume, right now, we're overstaffed."

I was scanning her report; it included a recommendation to cut account executives and around a third of the art department. I felt my lip turning in as I looked at her, and finally shrugged. "Keep everyone through the end of the year, and we'll re-evaluate then. But if anyone leaves, don't replace them."

She snorted. "No one's leaving. Where would they go?"

I nodded. "But Cynthia?"

She looked at me.

"Work their asses off."

She smiled, and stood up. Ted and I did, too, but I gestured for him to wait while Cynthia closed the door behind her.

I didn't waste time. "Gus' college fund?"

Ted's face softened, and he clapped me on the shoulder. "Don't worry, Bri. I invested it all in the Bank of Iceland."

I rubbed between my eyes. "Theodore, don't joke about money. Especially my money."

He laughed. "Seriously, don't worry. It's safe." He hesitated. "No one can predict every crisis, or prepare for any eventuality, but you're better off than most people."

He was right, so I just nodded and let him go.

That night, I walked into the loft and stopped abruptly. The smell of food cooking and the light and sound of someone in the kitchen all hit me at the same time.

Justin grinned at me from where he stood stirring a pot on the stove. "Hey."

I shrugged out of my coat and laid it and my briefcase on the stool. "Where did you come from?"

He'd barely gotten the first two words of his answer out when I had my mouth on his, kissing him, hands tangled in his hair.

He looked up at me when I finally pulled away, flushed and glassy-eyed. "Hi."

I smiled down at him. "Let's try it again. What are you doing here?"

He bounced up on his toes and kissed me, then went back to his pot. "It's the first day of fall."

I gave him a look. "It's the middle of October. The last time I checked, fall starts in September. Even in Pittsburgh."

He nodded. "Technically. But it just got cold yesterday."

"Okay." I knew there had to be more.

There was. "I like to cook when the weather gets cold."

"You have a stove in New York."

He wrinkled his nose. "I can't cook in my apartment. It attracts cockroaches."

I shuddered and conceded. "So, what example of haute cuisine have you prepared, and am I invited to dinner?"

I started heading for the bedroom, deciding to go along with the autumnal theme by changing into a sweater and jeans.

"Beef Bourguignon," he called after me. "And we need wine."

Most of my wine was at the house, aging as it gathered dust and increased in value, but I had a few bottles at the loft. After I changed, I opened a bottle of red so it could breathe, and leaned on the counter, watching him cook.

He was wearing a navy blue sweater and faded jeans. He needed a haircut, and from the dark circles under his eyes, I thought he probably needed a good night's sleep, too.

We ate at the table, and I told him it was delicious. And it was. The wine was mellow, the garlic bread fragrant and buttery, the salad crisp. I eyed him speculatively across the rim of my glass, but didn't say anything more than, "Let's go to bed."

It was the right thing. He left the dishes on the table and followed me into the bedroom. I stripped off his clothes and ran my hands over his bare skin, absorbing his heat through the palms of my hands, tasting wine and garlic on his lips.

I pressed inside him, his legs wrapped around me, and he told me he loved me, breath against my ear. I didn't pull out after we came, just lay there holding him, not moving.

In the morning, I woke up early. I quietly did the dishes and put everything away, then stood in the doorway, watching him sleep. He didn't wake up when I showered, or even when the smell of coffee filled the loft.

I was sitting at the computer almost two hours later when I heard him stumble into the bathroom. I looked up when he wandered over to the desk, wearing nothing but a pair of paint-spattered sweatpants and socks.

"I forgot to bring a clean shirt."

I kissed him, and his skin felt cold, so I dug out an old sweatshirt and watched him pull it over his head. And I still didn't ask why he was really here.

He drank coffee and seemed restless, so I asked if he wanted to go see his mom, or Daphne.

He shook his head. "I was thinking we could go out to the house."

That was a surprise, but I just nodded. "Okay."

So we went. The leaves on the trees lining the road were just starting to turn, and our lawn was lightly covered with the few that had fallen so far. Some of our neighbors had piles of pumpkins on their porches, and the whole thing looked like it was two days away from near-postcard autumnal perfection.

I let him punch in the alarm code, and then pushed the door open for us both. The house was cold, and a little dark.

I turned on the heat and some lights while Justin wandered around. I thought I'd find him in the studio, but he was upstairs in our bedroom, sitting on the bed.

The bed gave a little when I sat next to him. I leaned back on my elbows, and contemplated the back of his neck. "So… we're here." I let my voice trail off questioningly.

He threw himself backwards so he was lying next to me, but didn't touch me. "I got laid off."

I turned my head, and he was looking at me. "Fuck."

He sighed. "The magazine's shutting down, and they let everyone go, just like that."

"You know you don't have to…"

He smacked my thigh with the back of his hand. "Shut up. I know." He turned all the way on his side, facing me. "I was thinking, with the economy the way it is right now, this might be a good time to go back to school. Get my MFA."

I didn't smile, even though I wanted to. "There are some great art schools in New York."

He nodded. "But I was thinking of going somewhere else."

It might have been, for just a second, a little hard to breathe. I'd gotten used to the New York thing; but having him be in, say, Los Angeles again? But I pushed that thought away. "Where?"

He took a deep breath. "I was thinking of the Pittsburgh Institute of Fine Arts."

I opened my mouth to say something, but then I stopped. "The 'I was thinking' was a rhetorical device, I assume?"

He grinned. "Well, yes."

"And you've actually completely made up your mind already. Right?"

He nodded happily. "Right."

"And there's nothing I can say to change your mind." I didn't make it a question. If I'd learned nothing else in the last eight years, I'd certainly learned that diverting Justin Taylor from a goal or a decision was generally futile.

He leaned down and kissed me. "Exactly."

I shook my head. "What about New York?"

He brushed his lips over mine again. His mouth felt soft. "Is New York in danger of disappearing?"

I didn't answer, just kept looking at him.

He leaned down and touched his forehead to mine. "When the economy picks back up…"

I snorted.

He laughed. " _If_ the economy picks back up, New York will still be there." He didn't kiss me or say anything more, just looked at me.

I felt my lips turn in. We'd been talking lately about getting a bigger place in New York, together, and me spending more time there. But as the economy went further and further into crap, any kind of move to New York became less possible. "There's no way with things the way they are now…"

Justin cut me off with his mouth, and then moved so his body was stretched out on top of mine. My hands were flat out on the bed, and I pressed my head back, stretching my spine while Justin showered my jaw and throat with kisses.

The afternoon light was coming in the windows, and I had to close my eyes against it. I felt his weight shift, and I turned under him. He tugged my jeans down, then off, and I pressed my face into the bed, so hard that red lights flashed inside my eyelids, and every breath was difficult and hot.

There was no seduction, no teasing. Just his tongue and fingers pushing into me, his thumb riding against my prostate from the outside. I bucked back into his touch, getting onto my knees, finally turning my face to the side, gasping the cooler air.

His cock pressed against my hole, and he slid in, slowly, achingly. I fought against getting lost in it, trying to remember every push and stroke, the sun pouring over the bed, his mouth hot on my shoulder. But in the end it was nothing but light and fire, and Justin's weight across my back when we were done.

We must have fallen asleep, because when I opened my eyes, Justin was still half on top of me, and it was dark outside. I shifted a little, sticky against the comforter.

Justin rolled away, and laughed. "You can explain that to the cleaning lady."

I pushed his shoulder. " _You_ can take it off the bed and throw it in the washing machine after we shower."

He groaned, but when I came out of the bathroom, he'd put a clean cover on the duvet and put the condoms and lube back in the bedside drawer. I went downstairs, and he was standing in the kitchen, frowning into the refrigerator. "I kind of wanted to stay here tonight."

I shoved my hand through my damp hair. "Well, if I'd known you were coming…"

He grinned at me over his shoulder. "I know." He shut the refrigerator door. "Let's go out and eat."

We ended up at the diner, predictably. Debbie gushed all over him, just like she always did, but Justin didn't tell her he was moving back. I lifted an eyebrow at him after she left the table.

He shrugged. "I thought I'd better tell my mother first."

"Good point." I stirred sugar into my coffee. "How long are you here for?"

He looked at me for a second. "I hadn't thought about it. I have to give 30 days notice on the first of the month, so we have plenty of time." He smiled. "Assuming you can spare a couple of days to help me move?"

"As in, rent a U-Haul, no. As in, stand and supervise the professional movers I'll hire, sure."

Justin laughed. "Deal."

The next day, he went off to tell his mommy while I tried to figure out the cryptic symbols Cynthia had put on my personal calendar. I finally got three days in a row cleared, and emailed her and Ted that I'd be out of the office until Thursday.

It was a little strange to get in the Corvette and drive to New York Monday morning, instead of joining the flow of cars heading for downtown. Justin had wanted to drive, not fly, and he played CDs and chattered about his talk with his mother and in general sounded not a hell of a lot different from Gus.

We stopped for gas and to hit a Starbucks, and even when he spilled coffee all over my leather jacket, it couldn't seem to ruin my mood.

I was fucked if I was going to leave the Corvette anywhere near Justin's apartment building. I'd stayed there a few times when I was visiting him, but most of the time he was glad to escape to a four star hotel, and spend his mornings watching cable TV in his bathrobe while I convinced some New York bigshot to take a chance on Kinnetik's edgier, more aggressive approach to advertising. So I checked us in and then we took a cab to his place.

Justin stood in the little hallway that doubled as a kitchen. It was really a one room apartment, with a sort of alcove for his bed, and not a great deal bigger than the kitchen table at our house. It was better than the various shared places he'd had before, though, so I'd never complained, if by "never" you mean less than I'd complained about the other apartments.

I wedged myself into his tiny bathroom, and when I came out, he was standing at the window, touching a half-finished painting with a fingertip.

I walked up behind him and looked at it. "That's dark."

He nodded. "I didn't really realize that until I saw it just now." He pulled it off the easel. "I'm not even sure I'm going to finish it."

I just nodded. Justin almost always went back to his discarded paintings. Apparently some things just need more time than others.

The movers were coming the next day, so we went through his things, packing up his paintings, art supplies, and clothes, and leaving the rest for them.

I opened the kitchen cupboards and six cockroaches scurried away from the light. "I suggest everything in the kitchen get taken to the dump."

Justin sighed. "Yeah, there are some things about New York I won't miss."

I laughed. "There's a cockroach-free hotel room with our names on it, if you're ready…" I didn't want to rush him, but there wasn’t even a surface free to sit on.

We walked to the corner, and I turned my collar up against the cold wind. Rush hour was over, and it was just the usual New York traffic, cabs driven by men with death wishes weaving in and out among the cars, horns blaring.

When we were halfway to the hotel, I turned towards him. "Dinner? A club? A play, live music, some movie that won't open in the Pitts for six months? Or just a quiet night at home, dear?"

He laughed. "Shower, room service, and dancing."

I looked at him approvingly. "I like a man who knows what he wants."

He put his hand on my thigh. "I always do."

His hair had fallen into his eyes, and I pushed it back with one hand. "Yeah. I guess you do."

New York has the greatest clubs in the world, but in the end, they're just dark places with loud music. I didn't really care where we were when I had my hands on his bare, sweaty arms, and he was moving his hips against me. The lights turned silver and I kissed him, once on his mouth, then his forehead, then back to his lips. I felt his fingers tighten on the back of my neck.

It was only two when we got back to the hotel, not that late for New York, but it had been a long day. He was asleep when I finished in the bathroom, and I slid under the covers, lining my front up with his back. I tried not to fall asleep right away, just feeling the rise and fall of his chest under my arm. But the next thing I knew, it was morning.

The movers weren't coming until noon, so we got coffee and bagels at a place near Justin's apartment. I watched him eating, and shook my head. "You know, that's enough cream cheese in one meal to block your arteries for a lifetime."

He nodded as he took a bite. "I know. I'm sure I'll regret it someday."

I swiped a little bit off his lip with my finger, then finished my coffee.

The movers were there less than an hour. That's all the time it took to strip the apartment clean. Justin checked the medicine cabinet in the bathroom for the fourth time, and I finally gripped him by the shoulders and touched our foreheads together. "Are you ready?"

He let his hands rest on my wrists for a minute, and then nodded against my face. "Yeah. Let's go."

We went to lunch before we left, at a place in the Village Justin always made me take him to. We wandered around after we ate, and he finally dragged me away from the window of a high end shoe store, laughing. "You don't need more shoes."

"Hey," I objected. "I always need more shoes."

We cut through Washington Square Park, thinking we'd have better luck getting a cab on the other side. Halfway through, Justin stopped walking, and I looked at him.

"I know I'll be back," he said, almost fiercely. "And next time, we'll move here together."

He went up on his toes and kissed me, arms wound tightly around my neck. I kissed him back, his lips open under mine, our tongues tangling together inside our mouths.

I felt the wind pick up, and leaves showered down off the trees all over us. We both laughed, and brushed them off our arms and out of our hair.

I slung my arm across his shoulders as we started to walk towards the sidewalk. "See?" I said. "It's fall here, too."


End file.
